


the certainty that constitutes a thing

by summerstorm



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you keep jumping me every time I drink from you, I'm going to get all kinds of wrong ideas," Stefan says. | Set in mid/late S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the certainty that constitutes a thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a drabble meme.

"If you keep jumping me every time I drink from you, I'm going to get all kinds of wrong ideas," Stefan says.

He doesn't even try to push Elena off him, though, is the thing; he tells himself he probably should, because he's worked really hard to not be the kind of vampire who mixes feeding with pleasure, with this kind of pleasure. Drinking from humans isn't pretty, and it's not a turn-on. He may not have always felt this way, but he does now. He wants to keep feeling this way. That's why he's doing this—this building a tolerance to human blood thing with Elena. He doesn't want to fall off the wagon. She doesn't want him to fall off the wagon. It needs to be transactional, dosed like medical drugs. Otherwise it won't work.

But this feels rational enough, leaning on his elbows on Elena's bed while she gets comfortable on his lap. Her blood makes him feel more aware of everything, the hunger subsiding and letting his senses take in his surroundings. It doesn't have a dizzying effect, though; his senses don't try to overwhelm him. He watches Elena undo the top buttons on her shirt and yank it off over her head.

There's a beat after he speaks, and then Elena says, "And I don't want that, do I," flat and expressionless, all the while drawing down his zipper and rubbing her hand over his cock through two layers of fabric.

"You really don't." He's serious. He may be getting hard, but he's serious, and Elena must see it this time, because she licks her lips—okay, that doesn't mean anything, _but_ she licks her lips with this thoughtful expression on her face, looking straight at him.

She's frowning a little as she says, "Is it really bad? I'll stop." She's serious, too; he knows she doesn't want to, can feel it in the heat of her body, the way her lids don't go all the way up and her hand stays where it is even as her voice becomes even and matter-of-fact. His heightened sense of smell is usually only good for blood, and her heart is beating heavy in her chest. This close, though, he picks up on more than that, even before he tugs down her underwear along with her shorts and dips two fingers shallowly inside her, rubbing them once, twice over her clit before pulling them away and into his mouth.

"I think I can handle it," he shares, and she bats softly at his shoulder, a transparent, transparent excuse to touch his arm if he ever saw one. She pushes him down onto the mattress—she pushes him, at least, and he lies down on his own; Elena's stronger than she looks, but she's not strong enough to manhandle him. He kind of wishes she were, just to try it; it's fun to pretend she is sometimes, but they can only suspend disbelief for so long. (In the interest of full disclosure, 'so long' is generally long enough to squeeze in an orgasm or two.)

His hands are free now, so he gets rid of her bra, then cradles his face, brings her down for the kind of deep, slow kiss that makes him forget about cravings and bloodlust and everything that's gone wrong in the past year, in the past century. She squirms over him, rubbing herself against his crotch, and lifts her knees easily when he tugs the rest of her clothes down her thighs. She sits up and yanks them off her feet. Her hair brushes his arm when she leans down to kiss him again.

"Come here," he says softly against her lips, cupping her ass and pulling her forward. She breaks away just long enough to cock her head and smirk questioningly at him, something Stefan didn't know anyone could do until he met Elena: comfortable enough to be bold, shy enough to be unsure he's asking what she thinks he is when he wants her to sit on his face. He raises his eyebrows, waiting.

She makes a humming noise and says, "Okay, yeah." She doesn't need prompting to lower her hips once her knees are on either side of his head, or to roll her hips slowly, rub herself against his lips and, later, fuck herself on his tongue, until she's moaning and shuddering, mumbling incoherent promises he's pretty sure she means.

It's a little scary how honest Elena can be, even halfway to orgasm, but it's also easily one of the best things that's ever happened to him.


End file.
